10/08/2026
Some days, you start making dinner and realize you’re really reaching for someone you miss.
Today, I’m making what I always called Grandma’s red soup—her version of borscht.
With the gray skies here in Freeport, a little cooler air, and all the storm preparations, I found myself wanting something familiar. Something that slow cooks on the stove and brings back memories before you ever take the first bite.
My grandmother wasn’t born in this country. Her mother was German, her father Russian, and her childhood held hardships I can barely imagine. The Depression. War. Fleeing to France. Going without food.
And somehow, feeding us became one of the most beautiful ways she showed her love.
She made elaborate, absolutely delicious meals that far outdid this simple pot of soup. Food made from scratch, with hours of preparation and so much care. Grandma’s red soup is just what came to mind today.
So I called my mom to triple-check my ingredients. Because even with those faded handwritten recipes, there’s always something you need to ask.
“How much did she use?”
“Does this look right?”
You follow every step. You give it time. And it’s good… but it never tastes quite the same as it did when she made it.
It’s funny how a smell, a change in the weather, or a pot of soup can bring someone back so clearly.
So cherish your people. Sit at the table a little longer. Ask about the recipe. Write down the parts they say they “just know.”
Because one day, your children may call each other from their kitchens, trying to make something that reminds them of you.
And what they’ll be hoping to taste is how much you loved them.
